That Kind of Boy
by WhatsABriard
Summary: Lucien x Jean. A whim. 1600-ish words. Pre-wedding. It had a plot for like 2.7 seconds and then descended into filth. Eh - tasteful filth. Smut-lite maybe? Lucien is exactly the kind of boy your mother warned you about.


The studio was, to put it rather bluntly, something of a wreck. Boxes were strewn over every available surface, in various stages of packing and unpacking. However it was late and both Jean and Lucien were simply worn out. They'd made a great deal of progress, but the mess of the previous few days put them wildly behind in their moving schedule.

They crashed onto the sofa - the one space not cluttered with their mingled lives - and slumped into a heap.

"We should have started this ages ago." Jean reminded him, for roughly the 73rd time. She'd been after him for weeks after the new year to begin the process - a box at a time - to spread the job out and make it less daunting. However Lucien always found an excuse to put it off, citing all different manner of inane reasons before Jean finally cornered him and accused him of not wanting to share a room with her.

He was horrified to realize what conclusion she'd drawn. Late one night, by the fireplace he had pulled her beside him and confided in his still-complicated relationship with the room. He knew that it being their bedroom would mean new, lovelier memories would eclipse the haunting atmosphere. However he still tried to avoid the room whenever possible and did not feel particularly inclined to shuffle through his parent's lives once more.

Touched and saddened by the injuries he'd suffered to his heart when he was still too young to understand, she drew him beside her on the sofa. Her fingers cupped his neck and he turned his lips to her cheek, her nose, and her eyes before she redirected him to her lips.

She was determined to help him re-christen the room with happier associations.

And so, over time, it became Their Place. They retired to the studio to work slowly at reconfiguring their lives into a cohesive picture, but also at laying to rest the spirits that still resided in the cavernous space. Some nights they merely sat together, too tired from a busy day to do much work, instead sitting in one another's arms.

Other nights, they were too energized from the day and spent their time in other, more pleasurable pursuits.

At least those they'd permit themselves in the weeks before the wedding.

"We've not much more left to do." Lucien stared up at the gold-flecked ceiling and reached for Jean's hand beside him on the sofa.

"Yes, but we've run out of time. I've got to go to the club and help Cec with the decorations over the next few days and…"

He tugged her closer. "It'll get done. We'll manage."

She curled her legs up beside her, content to slip firmly against Lucien's side.

"We always do." With a palm to his cheek he turned him to face her and tugged, just a little, until his mouth was slanting over hers.

She wondered - somewhere in the back of her mind not occupied with the delicious things Lucien was doing to her mouth - if the little flutter that accompanied his touch would ever go away. Would her skin cease to bloom into gooseflesh as tingles worked themselves across her scalp and down her back.

She chased a line from his lips to his ear and then down his neck, enjoying the salty tangy of his sweat before nibbling just lightly.

She was rewarded by his own shiver and she chuckled against his skin. Unfolding her legs she fell back against the arm of the sofa, dragging him over her. His hands were not still, sliding beneath her sweater to brush feather-light over the sides of her breasts. She arched her back to encourage him, and slung her hands lower to his hips.

Lucien groaned when she shifted her hips and came in contact with him, drawing back his lower half while focusing entirely on her chest. With her palms, she pressed him towards her again and she felt the tell-tale heavy firmness touch ever so briefly against her thigh. Lucien jerked away again and she dropped her hands, frustrated.

"Lucien, will you stop?"

"I know, I'm sorry Jean. I just…" He tried to shift further from her, while busying himself with the delicate skin on her neck. She reached up a hand and pushed him away from her, his mouth hanging open and his gaze still clouded over.

"No, will you stop apologizing?"

"I...of course?" He was utterly confused, requiring a few long breaths before he shook his head.

"I mean, you act as though it isn't a compliment to know you desire me."

"Oh." He glanced down to the obvious bulge in his trousers and reddened. "Yes but…"

"And it's perfectly natural? I mean, you are a doctor. You do know this, right?"

"Yes, but..."

"And it's not as if I've never felt one. I have had two children."

"Jeannie, I'm sorry." He winced when she opened her mouth to reprimand him again. "I just don't want you to feel pressured into something you're not ready for."

"Bloody hell." Lucien looked scandalized and Jean waved her hand dismissively. "It's not as if you're the kind of boy my mother warned me about...well, you are _exactly_ the kind of boy my mother warned me about. But you're not- I'm not 15 anymore, Lucien."

"Right." He nodded, but obviously still had trouble following her thoughts.

"You don't have to be so careful all the time. I trust you."

"Yes, I know you do, Jean." And it meant the world to him that she did, which is why she knew he guarded her integrity so closely. He would not be the one to tempt her into something she would regret, now matter how much he desired her.

"Then trust me, love. Trust me." She drew their lips together again but this time she clambered to her knees and hovered over him, forcing him back against the sofa. She was thankful she'd chosen to wear slacks herself and moved to straddle his knees, wrapping his arms around her back.

"Of course I do. Of course I do, my darling." He was wide-eyed with an armful of very wicked-looking Jean. He'd heard tell of Catholic girls but he'd never bought into the myths. Now as he watched her search his face carefully while running her hands down his chest - he wondered exactly how much of those myths had been based in reality.

She rubbed soothingly over the muscles in his chest, taking time to kiss him slowly, pressing her behind into his palms. He might have been somewhat skeptical of the situation she was creating, but he was not an idiot. He curled his fingers around her bum and massaged. She let loose a little noise of pleasure and he doubled down on his efforts.

So busy was he attending to her, letting his fingers map over the delicate muscles of her thighs, that he very nearly yelped when her hands found their way into his lap. She brushed gently over his erection, although her touch was firm enough that he knew it was no accident.

"Jean, I…"

"Shhhhhh," she whispered against his neck and drew delicate skin between her teeth to suckled. This time when she touched him it was with more intention, pressing her entire palm over him and squeezing until his hips jerked in her touch.

He was about to stop her again, say her name, beg her to let him go. But she swallowed his protest with her lips, drawing his tongue between her teeth.

She moved gently and rhythmically, matching her thrusting hips to the actions of her hands. Lucien gritted his teeth and clutched at her sides, desperate that she should stop. Terrified that she would stop.

When her fingers gripped him through the material of his pants, he groaned. "Bloooooody helllll….." drawn from his lips as both a curse and a blessing.

"Jean," He panted as her hand moved faster, touching just so. "Jean if you don't stop I'll…"

"You'll…." She whispered against his cheek.

"I'll…"

"Yes." It was barely a breath that ghosted over his overheated skin. Tinders of desire burst ito sudden flame and his skin bloomed with a flush and his brow furrowed with the strain of holding himself together. She pressed and squeezed again, undulating in his lap, coaxing his climax gently but firmly. He was absolutely unable to resist. His hips jerked against her hand, thrusting. "I love you, Lucien."

The strong, corded muscles in his neck contracted and he threw his head back, warmth spreading over the front of his trousers. Stars burst, thousands of colors shimmer behind his clenched-tight lids.

Minutes - hours? - later he opened his eyes to Jean peppering light kisses over his face.

"Jean." He was still panting and his heart raced..

"Hmmm." She pulled back lazily, contented, and her eyes were drowsy dark.

"You didn't." He shrugged helplessly. It was silly that he couldn't talk to his future wife plainly, especially when she'd encouraged him to spend in his pants like a teenager. "You didn't...ah...climax."

Her grin turned cheeky. "Why, Lucien Blake. I'm not that kind of girl!"

"Saving yourself for your wedding night, are you?"

She nodded and, surprisingly, she felt tears gather. The reality of their lives starting, really starting, was an emotional pop in her gut every so often and emotion welled uncontrollably.

"Yes." She whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, swallowing back the tears. "For _our_ wedding night."

"Lucky man, your husband." He hugged her, burying his nose against her throat. Sated though he was, he only felt his longing for her more keenly. Soon. Soon.

"Yes. About as lucky as your wife."

"My wife." Miraculously. Against all odds. In his arms. Smiling beatifically.

Yes. His wife.


End file.
